


Je suis juste trop effrayé des loups (I am too afraid of wolves)

by dwarrowkings



Series: Kink_Bingo 2012 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Derek shudders. He hears Stiles's window slide open, and jerks in surprise. He thinks he should have known that someone was coming, and he's relieved when he recognizes his own frame crouching in the window, waiting for permission. </em><br/>In which Stiles and Derek switch bodies, and it's all that one witch's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Je suis juste trop effrayé des loups (I am too afraid of wolves)

The first thing Derek notices when he wakes up is that nothing is right. His bed doesn't smell right, and it's doesn't smell like him, and it's too small, and too bright and maybe too high up, but he's not sure because his senses are all wrong and seriously, what is going on?

He panics a little, and he opens his eyes. He's sleeping in Stiles's room, which answers about fifteen of his hundred questions, but when he looks around for Stiles, he realizes that those aren't his hands. He knows these hands, has thought about these hands. Has been saved by these hands, held above water for hours, by these hands and the body connected to them. He sniffs, and realizes that the reason that nothing felt right is because he's in Stiles's body and he can feel the way that Stiles's body is panicking.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks hysterically, and he can feel his – no Stiles's limbs jitter and shake – the adrenaline fizzing in his bloodstream. It's completely different from the way he feels it, but if you asked him, he wouldn't have the words to explain why.

Derek now knows the reason why it always looks like Stiles is moving, is because Stiles is literally always moving. Muscle twitches, nervous ticks, random shivers and cramps – Stiles's body has them, and now Derek knows what they feel like. Derek is never ever going to make fun of Stiles in his head for this again, because if it's this uncomfortable and embarrassing from the inside, Stiles doesn't deserve it for dealing with it all the time.

Derek doesn't know if Stiles always feels like his bones are too big for his skin – like they're rubbing against one another trying to escape, skin stretching to fit them awkwardly, or if it's just Derek-in-Stiles's-body, but if Stiles feels anywhere near half as uncomfortable as Derek is right now, he deserves a fucking medal for having any self-confidence at all.

He reaches for Stiles's phone and the stretch feels good and it hurts. Stiles's elbow creaks and pops and it should hurt, but it feels really good instead. He realizes that he's also woken up with Stiles's morning wood, and he doesn't know if it'd be okay to take care of it or not.

On the one hand, he'd be giving Stiles a handjob, but on the other hand, it's Stiles's own hand, but he's not here to enjoy it.

It'd be like... raping himself, but someone else. And isn't that just a mindfuck.

Derek shudders. He hears Stiles's window slide open, and jerks in surprise. He thinks he should have known that someone was coming, and he's relieved when he recognizes his own frame crouching in the window, waiting for permission.

“Your room, dude,” Derek says with Stiles's voice waving his hand. Stiles laughs with his whole body, even if it isn't his, and it's weird, because he knows his body hasn't laughed that easily in a long time.

“Do I always smell this fucking good to you?” Is the first thing Stiles says, and Derek is considering saying something that Stiles would say, like “No, 'hello, good to see you'?” when his mouth says it for him.

“Nice to know that some things aren't just my mind,” Stiles uses Derek's voice to say, and realizes that he must be registering the vague regret that he can't just be silent in this body. It isn't used to or equipped for it.

“I don't like it,” is what Derek says, but he's thinking that no one should have to be this awkward. People shouldn't have to feel this way in their own skins. And maybe Derek has a problem with guilt, but he's never really had to be self-conscious, because he's always had himself to rely on. His body listens to his brain, and he has complete control over what his body does, most times. He doesn't know if that's because he's a control freak or because he's a werewolf. It's probably a combination of the two.

Stiles chuckles again, and Derek has to think back to know if he's actually saying the things he's thinking out loud.

He's not.

“Dude, you think I like it either? I had to accept it and move on, because it wasn't like it was going to change.” The resignation is familiar, and the sadness, but Derek isn't used to hearing it from the outside.

Maybe he starts freaking out again. The fizzing didn't really go away, there were just other things to pay attention to, and his fingers feel light, like his hands could float away if they weren't connected to his arms, which feel heavy. His chest feels bright, and he hates this. He feels helpless and he's breathing so fast, but it doesn't feel like he's getting any air and oh god, what if – Derek feels a warm hand settle on the back of his head, and knows objectively, that it's his hand on the back of Stiles's head, but it feels so good.

It doesn't feel as weird as Derek thinks it should feel.

“Hey,” he whispers, and Derek can feel the wall of panic crack a little. Derek's hands are so warm, and Stiles knows how to use them to the most effect, because this is Stiles's body of course he'd know what would calm him down. He must have heard his heart beat pick up, smell the vinegar sweat of panicfear and oh god.

“My brain sucks,” Stiles huffs, and he's sitting down near the head of the bed, and scooting over to the middle, spreading his legs. “C'mere,” he says, opening his arms just a little.

Derek doesn't want to, because though all of this, Stiles's body is still a little turned on and it's embarrassing to be 16 again, but Stiles just chuckles and insists. “Dude, it's my body, it's not like I don't know what I'm doing.” And Derek goes.

It's a little awkward, because Stiles is really not that much shorter than him. He's 16, though, so he has more years of growing left than Derek does, and he's probably going to get taller. He gets close enough for Stiles to grab, and Stiles is gentling him into position. Derek goes with it, because Stiles apparently knows what he's doing, and finds himself breathing into his own neck. It's kind of weird, but good weird, because this close, Stiles's senses can smell Derek and he smells so good. Like crisp deciduous forests and rich soil and fresh air.

Derek is gripping the shirt in front of him, and he's not going to cry. He's not. He is a 23 year old werewolf stuck in a 16 year old human body and he's currently cuddling himself – quite literally, either way you look at it, and this is about seventeen shades of not cool, Universe.

He stops himself. Control. He thinks. He uses the shirt in front of him, and the smell as an anchor. If he can control the pull of the moon, he can control this. It's all about perspective. His body isn't important right now. He can't focus on the little things, like how Derek's hand on the back of Stiles's head feels so damn good, like it's seeping the anxiety away, and he doesn't want to think about Stiles actually figuring out that he can do that. He feels the “humph” before he feels it, a snarky noise, and he thinks that Stiles may have figured it out.

“This doesn't mean what you think it means,” Derek starts, and hears Stiles use his derisive noise.

“What am I supposed to think it means, Derek. I know what that feels like, I know what helps make it go away. It wouldn't be the first time that I helped myself get through a panic attack. Doing it in the third person isn't going to magically make me think that you have feelings, or whatever bullshit you think that the Alpha shouldn't have.”

“Weakness.” Derek whispers, breathless. He is so honest all of a sudden, off his guard. It throws him off when Stiles does this. Sometimes it feels like Stiles talks so much he can't be paying attention, but he notices things other people miss, even werewolves. Things that could be obvious if you just payed attention. His brain is always working, and Derek now knows what that feels like, and it sucks so much, but he's always paying attention to everything. It's like being a wolf, but without the benefits of super hearing, smell, and sight.

“That's bullshit, and you know it.” Stiles says. “It's a powerplay. You want your puppies to think that you're the end all and be all of werewolf knowledge, but you don't ever know anything. You feel weak, so you exert your power to prove that you're not weak. But it doesn't work like that. Sometimes your weaknesses make you stronger.” He's speaking from experience, Derek knows. “Your pack would respect you more if you trusted them.” And there it is again, hitting the nail on the head.

He realizes that he's calmed down enough that it should be awkward that he's using Stiles's body to cuddle with himself. He jerks a little, an aborted escape attempt, but Stiles just chuckles.

Stiles retreats, removing Derek's hand, and Derek misses the contact so much he tries not to pout.

This body is so much like a wolf, it's weird that it's not.

He tries not to let that thought get to him.

–

Derek had calmed down, and went to take a shower, leaving Stiles alone in his room. Stiles lays face down in his bed, expecting the comforting slump of his broken in mattress, but it feels different. Not bad, just different. He sighs, and smushes his face into his pillow, smelling how good he smells to Derek. He just wants to roll around in it, and he knows it's creepy, but that's how it is. Stiles smells good. Like a hundred things and nothing, and everything that reminds him of home. He'd smelled the same thing vaguely on Isaac this morning before he'd left, and maybe he recognizes it as pack. He's pack to Derek. He takes a deep breath, and feels a nudge in his bones, the same one he'd had while running here, and jumping onto his roof to get into his room. He lets it take over, and he feels what must be the shift, because his vision changes, gets sharper and he can see the dust on his beaten copy of The Lightning Thief and he vows to break it out later and forget about this whole mess that they've been ignoring.

He ignores the noises that Derek makes in the shower too, because he knows what he looks like okay. He's not ugly. The best he can be described as is cute, but it's not like he's misshapen or anything. He just feels that way.

He ignores the fact that Derek gets to see him naked, and he won't even be getting any sexy times out of it.

He can feel Derek's face go wolf, and he is super careful with his hands, but other than the uncomfortable shove of fingernails and some rather tickly facial hair, he doesn't feel that different. He closes his eyes and tries to nap.

He's almost asleep when he hears Derek's heartbeat quicken. If he focuses hard enough, he can hear the steady puff of Derek's breath behind the fall of water in the shower. His fingers squeak on the tile – Stiles can't tell if it's both hands, or just two, and Stiles hopes that he's jerking off and not freaking out again. Jerking it would solve so many problems, seriously. Stiles's body would loosen up, and settle a little, and Derek probably like, never jerks off and it would help his brain so much if he just did it, just once.

And if Stiles loses his virginity to his own hand, well. He's not going to complain.

He shrugs Derek's ridiculously broad shoulders, and goes back to trying to fall asleep.

There's a car down the street with a belt going, and its squeaking is driving him crazy.

Derek bursts into Stiles's room dramatically, one hand thrown wide on the door, the other clutching a towel to his chest, a towel wrapped precariously around Stiles's hips.

It's going to fall.

Stiles ignores it.

“You have chest hair,” Derek says, and then blinks, like that's not what he meant to say.

Stiles looks at Derek like he's an idiot. This must be what other people feel like when Stiles says random shit.

At least Derek looks properly embarrassed.

“Did you jerk off in my body.” Stiles asks, offhanded. Man, Derek has the best deadpan voice. Stiles's own deadpan voice is ridiculous. It isn't deadpan, for one. It goes up and squeaks, which makes it not deadpan at all. Stiles is going to use the shit out of this.

Derek splutters, “Wha-No... I mean... No. You just... I didn't want to... I can't... No.”

“I can tell dude. You totally should have. Blanket permission. Funniest shit ever when I get to tell people on the internet that I lost my virginity to myself and not be making an ironically lame masturbation joke.”

“You're insane,” Derek sounds horrified, and Stiles flashes a grin at him. Stiles pointedly wishes that he were in his own body to see it.

Stiles shrugs, quirking Derek's top lip up. “Maybe. But at least I find ways to amuse myself.”

“By jerking off in the shower,” Derek blurts, incredulous, and Stiles is going to laugh at him forever, because part of his brain to mouth filter is actually his brain being stupid. Score.

“There is that,” Stiles says, “But there is also online gaming and blogs and research. Movies. Television. Oh, and reading. Can't forget that. I am a self-contained entertainment machine. You could leave me alone for weeks, and I would come out practically the same as when I went in as long as I had the internet.”

Derek just looks at him like he's grown two heads.

He's in Derek's body, so he guesses nothing is impossible.

–

Stiles skips school, but his body doesn't. Derek is sitting through his classes, taking notes that Stiles will be too distracted to read later, and trying to avoid the asshole that is Stiles's chemistry teacher. Derek vows that when he gets his body back, he's going to scare the living piss out of the shitface.

He won't bother Stiles anymore, not like this, because Stiles (and how Derek knows this is questionable, he may have asked Erica) has perfect grades.

Mr. Harris is just a dick.

–

When he gets home from school, Stiles isn't in his room, so Derek decides to take Stiles up on his offer. Stiles's dad isn't home, and it's now or never.

He's seen Stiles naked because of the shower. He'd been trying to ignore it then, but Stiles was kind of beautiful. He'd seen his face of course, his mouth worried red and spit slick, caught between his teeth when he concentrates on something, but it's different when he's licking them, worrying Stiles's bottom lip in the mirror because he can, and because Stiles blushes so prettily (even if it's in response to his mental stimuli).

He lays down on Stiles's bed, having shucked his clothes. He does a preemptive search of Stiles's desk drawers to find lube – predictable teenaged boy hiding places – and spills some on his fingers. He slicks Stiles's cock – it's middling size and perfect for Stiles. Impressive, but not overwhelming, and he wraps his hand around it. He grunts like he got punched in the chest, because damn that feels good. He tries to imagine himself doing this to Stiles, shoving him down and slicking his cock until Stiles shakes and shudders and comes all over his hand.

He wants it so much he can taste it.

Derek slides his fingers down around Stiles's cock and imagines fingering him open, doing it to himself in Stiles's body. Doing it to Stiles in his own body. Having Stiles do it to him in Derek's body. Having Stiles in his own body fingering Derek in his own body. It's a jumbled mess, but it's so hot he's kind of shaking, and Stiles's leg is kind of cramping where it's hitched up, and his calf has maybe fallen asleep. It's weird, and it doesn't feel this way when he jerks off at all. This is an unconscious sprawl. It feels good, like letting go after clenching something so tightly that the imprint is in your hand.

He thinks about knotting Stiles in the first and second person. The dick in his hand jumps, and his stomach drops out and he comes all over his hand.

“Hell,” he says out loud, to no one.

He takes a shower before Stiles's dad comes home because he's paranoid, and thinks about making dinner, but how does Stiles cook? He gives up and orders Chinese in, conscious to give them Stiles's phone number and pay with his own credit card over the phone from memory.

He's going to make this as uncomplicated as possible.

–

Stiles's dad is really, really cool, and also doesn't know about werewolves.

The two aren't connected, because even if he knew, he'd still be so very very cool, but.

Stiles has secrets from his dad, which Derek objectively knew, but it didn't quite sink in until his dad thought that he spent the afternoon at lacrosse practice and the night last week with Scott (which happens, apparently, often enough that neither parent questions it).

Stiles's dad likes baseball, but only if he's there in person, and Lacrosse only if his son is playing.

His secret pleasure is hockey, and he likes it because he also secretly likes boxing.

Derek knows these things because he sort-of-maybe-kind-of stalks Stiles's dad after he says he's going to bed.

Stiles's body almost ruins it by jerking randomly and almost knocking over a lamp, but Derek has been a werewolf long enough that he catches it reflexively.

That's how he finds out he's still the alpha of his pack.

–

He has no idea what Stiles has been doing while he was at school, or all afternoon, but when he wakes up in the morning, Stiles has curled Derek's body around him while he was sleeping, so.

There's that.

Derek has never seen himself sleep before, so he gets to appreciate the way his eyelashes curl and fan out over his cheeks, and the way his stubble only gets more attractive in the morning light.

It's weird to be objectifying your own body, but he's doing it.

Derek may or may not be a secret narcissist, or Stiles's brain may be affecting his thought patterns. Stiles's brain may be so used to cataloging Derek's beauty (or hotness, or whatever) that even without the impulse, his brain is still doing it.  
“Stop it,” Stiles grunts, “m'tryna sleep here.”

And Derek says “Sorry,” and buries Stiles's nose in his hair.

This is all kinds of jacked, but he likes it right now.

–

“Your chemistry teacher hates you,” Derek says when he comes home and sees Stiles sitting on his bed. He dumps Stiles's backpack next to the computer desk, Pronouns are getting kind of weird, because he's starting to think of Stiles's room as his own, and this body as his, even when it's still technically Stiles's.

This is getting to be more messed up than he though it was, and they're still not any closer to finding what the fuck did this to them, or how to change it back.

It's been three weeks, and in about two days, the pack is going to figure something out when their alpha isn't an alpha anymore.

They've already noticed Derek and Stiles hanging out more than usual, and they're starting to make jokes about them dating.

Playing Stiles at school is exhausting, and he's taken to napping in the afternoons after Lacrosse practice.

Stiles is already laying down in preparation for Derek sliding in beside him to catch a few hours of rest before the Sheriff gets off. It's the day shift this month, and Derek has been weirdly grateful for it.

He strips down, noting that Stiles has found his sleep pants somewhere and stashed a pair in his room.

He grabs a pair of sweats from a drawer, and slips them on before he flops gracelessly on the bed.

Stiles chuckles, snuggling in and rubbing Derek's face on Stiles's shoulder.

“Stop scenting me,” Derek mumbles, already drifting off, barely catching it when Stiles answers “Why? You've been doing it to me too.” Derek drops off before he can formulate a reply.

–

“Your pack is going to figure it out,” Stiles says, because he's right.

“I know,” Derek mourns, “but there's nothing we can do about it now. We tried all we could try, and nothing has worked so far.”

They've been working hard on finding what the fuck it was, but all they've got to go on was that there was a witch there, and there was maybe some sort of human sacrifice? But that's not a lot to go on.

Plus, they've been studying together, because Derek isn't exactly up on his high school subjects, and if they ever switch back, Stiles is going to have to know at least some of the stuff he learned in the month he was a werewolf.

This is the stupidest shit ever, but Derek keeps his huffy sigh to himself.

–

“Okay, so, our Freaky Friday we're-more-alike-than-we-thought-we-were schtick didn't help,” Stiles says, and if he'd been using his own voice, it would be bubbling over with hysterical laughter. As it is, his voice sounds slightly amused, which is perhaps the same thing.

“Nope,” Derek says, because he has nothing helpful to contribute.

“Are there any other things you can think of?” Stiles asks, frustrated. Even like this, it's still Derek's voice asking Stiles's body to produce answers. Derek thinks there's an irony to that.

Derek thinks about it.

This is the stupidest idea, but he wants it.

“Sometimes these things require a more... physical revelation?” Derek says, and he knows that Stiles is a 16 year old virgin.

“You're saying that having sex with you could fix this?” Stiles says, and Derek blushes. He hates Stiles's body for its reactions, at the same time that he loves it. He'd love it more if he were on the outside. “No, dude, I'm totally down. Lets, uh. Get it on... with.” And that's Derek's flustered voice. He knows, because that's how Kate had made him sound.

He feels some of the color drain away from his face at the thought, and Stiles zones in on it.

“Dude, we don't have to. I'm sure there are other ways,” He placates, placing an awkward hand on Derek's shoulder. Stiles's shoulder.

This is so frustrating.

–

 _I'd rather be castrated by angry chipmunks Than live your life for 24 hours_ is what Scott says when he finds out. He sends it to Derek's phone, of course.

Stiles replies with _Scott if your life had a face, i'd punch it in the balls_.

 _u luv me_ Scott texts back, completely smug.

–

“I think this is a terrible idea,” Derek quibbles, but Stiles reailroads him.

“I've seen you naked and you've seen me naked. I know this body finds you attractive, and I know my body definitely finds you attractive. And if it'll solve our pronoun problem, why not?” Stiles asks

“You're a virgin.” Derek argues, “Don't you want your first time to be with someone you actually like?” _Like Lydia_ he thinks, and there's a twisted hurt look on Derek's face, and Stiles is making it.

–

They have sex and it isn't awful. It's pretty good, if awkward and weird and holy god it was good. Stiles wants to do it again, wants to do it all the time, but Derek says no.

–

The witch laughs at them for half an hour when she finds out. “You guys” she says betweens gasps and peals of laughter, “You guy actually thought fucking,” she starts slapping her knee, bent over and face red. Stiles honestly thinks that if Derek weren't human right now, he'd be trying to kill her. As it is, his eyes are flashing red and his fists are clenched. Stiles feels embarrassed, but that is actually nothing new. “Oh god, I can't believe that you guys thought that fucking would solve your problem. Of all the cliché, terrible movie-plot things to think.” She is still gasping for air, and Stiles is re-thinking his firm stance on not killing her. On second thought, witch killing seems pretty A+.

“We got it,” Derek says through clenched teeth. “How can we fix it,” because Derek has been in Stiles's body for almost three months and it's exhausting, and he can't feel his wolf, and these senses are _terrible_ and he wants to shift, a full body thing that he never lets himself do, and just run.

“There isn't any fixing it,” she says, and Stiles and Derek both take a step towards her, like killing her would make the accidental curse go away. “It wears off eventually. There's no pheromone or emotional trigger. Sorry that the media has not adequately prepared you for waiting it out.” Derek is gritting his teeth so much is jaw hurts, and Stiles has his hands on his face.

“I hate this,” one of them says, or both because one is the other is both of them right now.

–

Derek wakes up, and it isn't where he went to sleep, flexes his fingers and feels them stretching and then contracting, the bones settling into their other configuration and finally, he is his own body again. He sheds his clothes, the clothes that Stiles put on his body before sleep and lets his wolf go.

He doesn't realize what he's done until he ends up in Stiles's room, with no clothes. Stiles smiles sleepily at him and waves towards the dresser. _You know where they are,_ his hand seems to say, and Derek pulls on a pair of boxers and slides into bed besideStiles.

“I'm so glad we have our pronouns back,” Stiles mumbles sleepily.

“You've always smelled so good to me,” Derek says back, pressing his face into Stiles's shoulder.

“I figured,” Stiles says, and falls back asleep. Derek doesn't think he can, but when he wakes, hours later, tangled up with Stiles, he thinks that it'll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but it took forever to write. The ending probably feels rushed, because it was. This fills my "witches" square on my kink bingo card.


End file.
